For Luck
by geekmama
Summary: A angsty sequel to Sunday Dinner Chapter 66 of 'Drabbles of the Caribbean'. Norrington takes Elizabeth to visit Jack the night before the hanging.


A sequel to _Sunday Dinner_ (Chapter 66 of 'Drabbles of the Caribbean'), this was written as a reply to the drabble (ha!) challenge for last week at Black Pearl Sails - Theme: Lucky Charm. Many thanks (as always) to Hereswith and Honorat for editing and suggestions.

* * *

o-o_** For Luck **_o-o_**  
**_

The sigh of the breeze and the crunch of gravel under their shoes were the only sounds to be heard as Elizabeth and James walked back through the gardens. There was nothing else to say, after all.

On her way out to the point Elizabeth had nearly run, and her passions had run with her. She had wanted to shout rage to the skies, throw expletives to dash against the rocks, exploding like granadoes: violent, noisy, impossible to ignore. Then she had come to the cliff's edge and looked out at the indifferent sea, gasping for breath, and realized it was all quite useless: Jack Sparrow would die tomorrow, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She had wrapped her arms about herself, trying to master her despair. No use. No use.

Still, she had not been able to keep silent when James had come.

She supposed she should be ashamed, enacting him such a Grand Tragedy. _Would it help if I went on my knees before you? If I begged you to spare him?_ As though such measures would weigh with him. As if anything would.

Oh, God. How could she marry him?

"Elizabeth!"

His voice, and his hand on her arm, broke into her increasingly agitated thoughts. Startled, she turned to him, struggling for composure.

"Y-yes?"

He studied her closely for a moment and she willed herself to be calm. There was a look in his eyes that told of worry, of concern that sprang of… regard. _Oh, James!_ _Do not!_

But he finally spoke. "Elizabeth… would you like to go see him?"

She stared. "In the gaol?"

"Yes, of course. I will take you there, if you wish it."

She had not been allowed to see Jack since their return to Port Royal. _It would not be fitting_, her father had said, and James had agreed. But now, with Barbossa's crew no longer in residence…

"Yes," she said, firmly. "I would very much like to do so." She swallowed hard. "Thank you, James."

His expression lightened. "I shall speak with your father. I assume you are through with your dinner – can you be ready in a quarter of an hour?"

She nodded. "Yes. I…" She put out her hand, hesitantly, but there was no hesitation on his part as he took it in both of his. She frowned a little, but said again, sincerely, "Thank you!"

He bent and set his lips to her fingers. Straightening, he said, "I'll call for the carriage."

She nodded. He turned away toward the stables, and she hurried to the house, sick at heart.

_He loves me. He loves me, and I cannot love him._

But she would think about that later. One tragedy at a time.

**o-o-o**

She bypassed the dining room, where her father and the widow were no doubt lingering over nuts and sweets, and went straight to the kitchens to request that a basket of the best food and drink be made up. James had assured her that Jack was being well cared for, but she doubted this included any sort of luxury. She could amend that, for this one night, at least.

While cook made up the basket, Elizabeth went swiftly up the stairs to her room.

"What is it, Miss?" asked Estrella, startled at her mistress's precipitate entrance.

"The Commodore is taking me to Fort Charles. Will you fetch me my cloak, please?"

"To Fort Charles?" Estrella repeated, sounding shocked. "To see that Jack Sparrow?"

"_Captain_ Sparrow," Elizabeth corrected.

Estrella shook her head, clucking, but went to the cupboard to do her mistress's bidding.

Elizabeth went to her mirror. Not too disheveled, in spite of the distressing episode just past. She tidied her hair, smoothing and tucking a few stray wisps into the still elegant coiffure. Her clothing was suitable enough, a gown of blue silk, embroidered in a pattern of gold leaves, with a froth of ecru lace at the sleeves and at the fashionably low décolletage, a feature that would likely please Jack. It occurred to her that he had never seen her dressed as befitted her station – except that one time, lying unconscious under thirty feet of water. And he'd taken care of that quickly enough!

The edge of her mouth twitched, remembering that. And the island. He had thoroughly enjoyed her half-dressed state, though his appreciation had been expressed subtly enough that she'd merely been more aware: of herself, and particularly of him and the need to be on her guard. Those rum-soaked glances; the arm that had so skillfully insinuated itself about her shoulders as they'd sat close by the fire. She wondered what might have happened if she'd not been set on carrying out her Plan.

He was not a gentleman. But he was a good man.

"Here you are, Miss." Estrella had come up behind her, and now placed the cloak over her shoulders. She turned about, away from the mirror, and allowed the maid to fasten the ties, murmuring thanks when it was done.

Estrella smiled, encouragingly. "You're welcome. And… and wish the captain luck for me, will you, Miss? I don't forget that he saved your life."

"I will."

The maid nodded, then left the room, leaving Elizabeth standing alone. Wish him luck. It seemed ridiculous, in such a pass. But she didn't think Jack was a religious man (apart from impersonating a cleric during one adventure – she recalled the smirk on his lips as he'd told her of it: most irreverent), so perhaps luck was the more appropriate sentiment to impart.

_Luck_. On impulse, she returned to her vanity, pulling out a drawer and removing from it a painted porcelain box that had once been her mother's. Treasures lay within: not as alarmingly efficacious as Aztec Gold, perhaps, but far more wholesome in intent. She smiled, a little, as she lifted the lid.

**o-o-o**

On the ride to the fort, Elizabeth stared out the window of the carriage, the gathering dusk pressing in on one side, her betrothed's presence on the other. James did not speak, for which she was thankful at first. But then, when the gray walls of the fort came into view, she shifted anxiously, suddenly wondering what she would say to Jack, a man condemned to die in a few hours time.

James seemed to sense her uneasiness, though he missed the mark entirely as to its reason. "I will be armed, and accompany you into the cellblock – you needn't fear he will make any attempt against your person."

She sat up a little straighter, and said, rather tartly, "I'm not afraid of that."

"Well, you should be," he returned. "Or, at least, you will take care around him, if you please."

Elizabeth did not reply. Would that she could help Jack, by _any_ means available! But she did not see how it could be done. She had only empty words, a basket of victuals, and a piece of luck for him now. Her hand drifted to the inner pocket of her cloak, where the latter rested against her heart, and she somehow found comfort in its shape and solidity, and in its memories.

**o-o-o**

The sense of oppression grew on her as they neared the fort. She was not usually given to odd humours, but it suddenly seemed to her that the grey stone of the walls looked like bone. Then, as they entered the gates, she caught sight of the scaffold that had seen so much use over the last fortnight. A shiver of horror went through her, and she sat up very straight, silently berating herself for henheartedness. Had she not been through far worse than this in the last month? But somehow that wild, unexpected adventure had brought a different sort of fear. This manifestation of law, of civilization was deliberate, and utterly indifferent, and it made her blood run cold.

Then the carriage stopped and a Marine opened the door and greeted them cheerily. Elizabeth was handed from the carriage, gratefully took James's arm and entered the building.

She had never been in this part of the fort before, and was disturbed at the long, grim passages and many stairs. There were odors, too, that set her on edge, but thankfully they grew less bothersome as they approached their destination: the block of cells that overlooked the sea.

The guard at the final door seemed startled to see them, but he saluted with alacrity, then opened the door for them.

Voices! As they moved down the stairs, the voices grew louder, and it was plain from the sing-song tone of the one doing most of the talking that a story was being told.

If the situation had not been so dire, Elizabeth would have laughed at the sight that presently met her eyes: Jack, dressed only in shirt and breeches, was standing near the door of his gaolcell, relating a tale of magic and mayhem to a lieutenant and a couple of young midshipmen in the passage without.

The lieutenant was Groves, and he jumped up from the stool he'd been perched upon when he realized who was coming down the stairs. "Commodore! And Miss Swann!" Flushing, he bowed, then joined his younger comrades in standing at attention.

"At ease," Norrington said, dryly, then addressed his prisoner. "Sparrow, I hope your words of wisdom are of sufficient value to compensate these men for the consequences attendant upon a neglect of duty."

"But sir! It is no such thing!" Groves protested. "We were relieved an hour since, but wished to pay a visit to the prisoner. It seemed the… the Christian thing to do."

A tiny snort of laughter did escape Elizabeth at that, and she put her hand to her mouth. Jack flashed a grin, and winked at her from behind the grate.

"I see," said James, keeping his countenance quite admirably. "Miss Swann and I have come with similar intent. If you gentlemen will give us leave for a few minutes?"

"Certainly, sir!" Groves said. He and the midshipmen bowed, and James and Elizabeth made way for them, so they could retreat up the stairs.

Heedless of James's warning, Elizabeth went straight over to Jack, who put his hands through the grate and took hers, clasping them warmly. "And how's me little rum-burner?" he said, for her ears alone.

"Oh, Jack!" she choked, between tears and laughter. She had not seen him in more than a fortnight, and somehow he was both more and less than memory had recorded. "Are you… all right?"

He smiled crookedly. "As all right as I can be, under the circumstances." He raised his eyes, glancing over her shoulder. "Ah, Commodore. Such commendable, if misplaced diligence."

Elizabeth turned, and saw that James was standing a few feet away, a sardonic twist to his mouth, and a serviceable-looking pistol in his hand.

"I really hope you are correct," James replied. "I should very much dislike subjecting Elizabeth to the sight of you having the top of your head taken off. You will release her, now, if you please."

Jack gave her hands a little squeeze, but rolled his eyes and said, as he did as ordered, "Oh, aye. Not quite so tidy as hanging, after all."

"Indeed," said James, humorlessly.

"James!" said Elizabeth, sharply. "There is no need—"

"There is every need. But we will not debate this point. You must keep your distance, or I will take you home, now."

She wanted to stomp her foot, but confined herself to tilting her chin and looking daggers at him. "Very well." She turned back to Jack, who was greatly amused.

Jack said, "Lord, what I'd give to be able to watch the two of you pull caps for the next couple of years. P'rhaps I'll come back and haunt you!"

"Oh!" said Elizabeth, and put her palms to her hot cheeks, furious and ashamed at once. "I'm sorry! This is not what I had planned to say!"

"No? Well, what were you going to say, love?"

There was warmth and sympathy in his eyes, behind the laughter. "I don't know," she admitted. "I just wanted to come. To see you… once more."

The humor faded somewhat, and he nodded. "I'm a bit surprised he brought you, but I have to thank him. I've been wanting to see you, too. And Will."

_Oh dear_. Trying to keep grief and resentment from her voice, Elizabeth said, "Will is gone, Jack. My father pardoned him, but a few days ago he left Port Royal. Mr. Brown told me."

Jack quirked a brow, and he frowned thoughtfully. "Did he now? That's int'resting."

"Interesting!" said Elizabeth, bitterly. "I would have thought… but, no."

"No. Although those Turners, they'll surprise you," Jack mused. "I could tell you some stories about old Bootstrap that'd curl your hair – if it weren't curled already."

"I daresay," Elizabeth smiled. "Is that what you were doing when we came in?"

Jack chuckled. "Aye. That Groves, and those mids, hangin' on me every word – as it were. Helps pass the time. A right Christian thing to do, just as he said."

That reminded her. "I… I wanted to bring you something. Besides the food, I mean." She gestured to the covered basket, which James had set down a few feet away. "There's rum, too, I believe – my father's best."

"Bless your heart, love! Though that don't make up for all that you burned."

She shook her head. "I suppose you will never forgive me that."

"Not a chance," Jack asserted. "Really, it'd serve you right if I was to come back an' haunt you. I'll have to make a point of it."

She studied him closely, very aware that this was the last time she would speak with him like this. "I hope so," she said, and her voice shook a little. She straightened, gathering her composure, and slipped her hand into the pocket of her cloak to draw out her gift. "Here. This is for you. For luck." He reached through the grate and took from her the piece of smooth, oval shell. The intricate blue-green swirls of it flashed in the lantern light.

"It's beautiful," he said, and meant it.

"It was my mother's," said Elizabeth. "Her grandfather sailed with Drake. He brought this home from his travels, and it was passed on, until it came to me. It is said to be good luck. I want you to have it."

Jack held up the piece of shell, turning it over and over. "I've seen some of these, before," he mused. "On the other side of the world." For a long moment he was absorbed in memory, revisiting places and things that she'd only read about, or heard in rumor. But at last he came back to her. "Thank you, love. You're sure?"

"Yes!" she said. "I want you to have it. It… it will go back to the sea."

A silent communion passed between them, and then Jack raised his eyes to meet Norrington's. "So it will."

**o-o-o**

Elizabeth was silent on the carriage ride home, and thankfully numb within, though she knew that would not last. She allowed James to take her hand, but did not look at him, not until they drew up before the door.

He helped her from the carriage, and she faced him, dry-eyed. "Thank you, James. It was good to see him once more."

"Elizabeth—"

"I must bid you good night, now. But we will meet in the morning."

"Yes," he replied, but could find no other words.

She turned away, and climbed up the steps, going into the house.

Her father was from home, escorting the widow back to her lodgings. She asked the footman to let him know she'd retired for the evening, and went up to her room. Estrella was there and, thankfully, refrained from chattering as she helped Elizabeth change into a nightdress.

"I'll stay up a little, I believe," said Elizabeth.

Estrella curtsied. "Very well, Miss. I'll bid you good night, then."

Alone, Elizabeth blew out the candles, opened the drapes and window, pulled up a comfortable chair, and for a long time looked out to the sea.

There was a ship out there in the moonlight, near the horizon, but the distance was too great to determine the colour of its sails.

**o-o-o-o-o **


End file.
